In my experience, one of the strangest side effects of being pregnant are the very odd, vivid and random dreams that I have. Usually, while in my normal, un-pregnatized state, I dream vividly, but I can always connect a dream to something that I experienced in my real life fairly recently. While in my pregnatized state, however, my dreams have absolutely nothing to do with anything. People I haven’t seen in years show up so we can chat over a cup of tea. Dionne Warwick is suddenly my long-lost childhood friend. I mean, obviously.
So I wasn’t surprised when I woke up this morning and recalled this little scenario from Dreamland. . .
(Brandon and I are walking around with cafeteria trays of food trying to find a place to sit. But we’re in some weird, big, old house with lots of mahogany paneling. And there are other people with trays of food sitting in various rooms on the floor.)
Brandon: I’m a choir girl, right?
Britta: Well, no. You’re a choir boy, though.
Brandon: Yeah. Logic would lead me to believe so, but Bob Meek told me otherwise.
So begins your first letter, little boy. I have some things to tell you and I’m scared that I will forget them by the time you actually arrive. There’s so much preparation going into your life with us already.
You have two dogs and one cat. I’m not really going to talk to you about the cat because she is old and scabby. The dogs, however, are very important to your father and me. They are both girls and are very excited to meet you. Their names are Roxy and Zsa Zsa.
Roxy is a boxer. This breed is supposed to be a wonderful family dog and I can tell already that you and Roxy will be great friends. Ever since she found out that I was pregnant, she has taken to falling asleep as close to me as possible. Many mornings I wake up to her big boxer lips planted firmly on my cheek. And I mean, check out those lips:
Zsa Zsa is a vizsla. I found her running around your Auntie Lisa’s neighborhood in Fisher’s Landing. We didn’t plan on keeping Zsa Zsa, but she and Roxy became sisters immediately and once the family who lost her told us that they didn’t want her anymore, we were happy to add her to our family. Zsa Zsa will probably spend the rest of her life trying to adopt you. She never got to have puppies of her own, but there is no doubt in my mind that she was born to be a mommy dog. I should warn you that she is a little high strung. This was her first portrait:
They tell me every day about how excited they are to meet you and to lick you and play with you. I am so happy that you will get to grow up with two such amazing animals.
I also need to talk to you about your level of activity. I’m starting to wonder if you’re going to flail around as much outside of the womb as inside. In my mind I imagine you looking a lot like Elaine when she did her little dance on an episode of Seinfeld. Check it before you wreck it:
I mean SERIOUSLY, it is starting to feel really weird.
I went to the doctor yesterday and I am very proud to tell you that I do not have gestational diabetes. Which is a very good thing because if I did have it, I would have to watch what I eat, which doesn’t sound like much fun to me. Also, you (or rather my stomach) is measuring a few weeks larger than normal. But I am just blaming this on my fat uterus which I have blogged about before. I think that you are probably just the right size. Or I guess there’s an outside chance that you’re already the size of your father.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 30 years old which makes me feel like an old bitty. But when I look at my 30 years of life, I can’t believe how incredibly blessed I feel. I have your father who is very smart and likes to fix things. We live in a nice house with a pretty view of the river. And I’m going to get to meet you in three months. You, the little boy flipping around in my tummy as I write this. You, who have already positively changed our lives in ways I cannot measure. When I think of these things, 30 doesn’t seem so old. Who knew this is what my simple, little, crazy life would look like?
Anyway, when you’re old enough to read and to comprehend, I’ll give this letter to you. I hope it helps you understand how much you were loved before you even showed us your little face. Sleep tight. I love you.
